


Fix Me in 45

by OldWomanJosie



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldWomanJosie/pseuds/OldWomanJosie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outlander punk AU. Philharmonic hopeful Claire Beauchamp falls in with the punk band Tulach Ard and her life will never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Black Parade - The Meeting

Claire Beauchamp breezed out of the audition as if she had every confidence in the world that she would be the next principal flutist of the New York Philharmonic. This false confidence lasted about half a block before she had to lean against a signpost and gather her wits to go on.

  
It had gone well. It really had; her playing was flawless if a bit stiff since she was nervous out of her mind. They had been very gracious, looking at each other and then at her before offering their hands and reiterating how 'good it was to meet you in person, Ms. Beauchamp.'

  
Claire exhaled slowly and set her flute case down briefly to wipe her sweaty hands on her jacket. No use for nerves now, she told herself sternly. If they choose you, they choose you, and there's not a great deal you can do about that now. The traffic light turned green and she crossed the street to enter the subway station.

  
Her well-meant self talk didn't help much, however. As she sat on the subway, riding home in a car massed with strangers, her thoughts kept drifting to the audition. Could she have played better, smiled more, been more charming? Each subsequent attempt at shaking the nuisance thoughts out of her head caused more and more people to stare at her. Perhaps they thought she was crazy. Well, at the moment, she felt a bit crazy.

  
Claire got off at her stop and started to climb the stairs to the street. Her tiny apartment was only a few blocks from the station and she started walking briskly. She was looking forward to the journey and a chance to clear her head.

  
And then she heard the music.

  
It was a piano, a poignant chime over the hustle of the crowd. It came from the street above and she climbed the stairs faster, curious to see the origins of the piano's notes, which were continuing into a minor key.

  
Bursting out of the stairwell, she found herself in the midst of a wall of humanity. The crowd was massive, surging around a stage in the throes of celebration. Belatedly Claire remembered the music festival that was in town this week, and regretted coming home by this route. She wasn't one for rock music, but she most certainly was not one for the type of person that came with it.

  
Forgetting the mystery piano in favor of getting home without getting trampled, she began pushing her way through the crowd. There were more elbows thrown than 'excuse me's uttered, though, since most everyone was drunk by that time of night.

  
She turned sideways to edge through two conversing women and caught sight of the band that had taken the stage. They were, of course, the source of the piano music; the man at the keyboard was pecking out the same melancholy tune that had called Claire out of the station. Two more men, tall and bearded with drum and bass, waited on their cue.

  
At the center of the stage was the lead singer. His guitar was slung around his neck, hanging unused as he stood under the spotlight. His red hair was tied back into a tail and his eyes were smudged with black eyeliner. Standing quite still in front of the microphone, he lifted his head and began to sing.

  
A hush fell over the crowd at the sound of his voice. Claire stood frozen to the spot, just listening as his clear voice rang out over the assembled people. It was a beautiful sound and it occurred to her that perhaps she had been a bit quick to judge rock bands if this was the kind of singing that they produced.

  
Then the lead singer smiled at the drummer and Claire was reminded quite violently why she disliked rock. It is a very loud genre. The drummer threw his entire body into the drum roll that followed and the crowd around her screamed like men possessed. She clapped her hands over her ears and turned to make her way home.


	2. This is Gospel - The Chase

Upon turning, she bumped squarely into a man standing in her way. "Pardon me," she said brusquely and tried to push past him. He remained resolutely in place. Claire looked up, meaning to beg his pardon slightly louder in case he hadn't heard the first over the sound of the drums.

  
The man smiled down at her and put his hand on her arm, in a way that seemed steadying but somehow...wasn't. "Pardon me, little lady," he said pleasantly. "I shouldn't have been standing in your way. I just couldn't help admiring the view." He looked her up and down and that look was definitely not friendly at all.

  
"It is not your view to enjoy," she said tartly, jerking her arm to free it from his grasp. He did not let go. "Remove your hand, if you please," she said through gritted teeth.

  
"Now hold on," he said, sounding offended. "There's no need to be rude. I'm just trying to make your acquaintance." He smiled again, with far too many teeth. "Friendly-like. We can be friends, can't we?"

  
"We most certainly can not, now let me go!" Claire pulled against him and he tightened his grip even further. She cried out, but no one noticed above the now raucous band. He wouldn't let go, so she hit him in the face with her flute case.

  
Her assailant cried out in surprise and released her arm. Claire turned and dove into the surging crowd, paying no mind to where she was headed as long as it was away from the man's unwanted attentions.

  
She made my way to the edge of the crowd. Ending up beside one of the huge speakers, she stopped her ears awkwardly and glanced back for signs of pursuit. Her stomach knotted as she spotted the man, elbowing his way roughly through the crowd in her direction. Clearly he wasn't one to take no for an answer.

  
The band finished their song with a final chord and the crowd went up in cheers. Seeing her assailant's way further blocked by their excitement, she took the opportunity to duck away. She regretted wearing her more attractive pumps rather than something more practical as the hurrying began to take its toll on her feet. She slowed down, certain that she'd lost him.

  
"Excuse me!" His voice from behind her- too close behind- told her how wrong she'd been. Claire picked up her pace slightly, pretending not to have heard. "Miss, we have unfinished business!" He was following her.

  
Restraining her rising panic, she made a swift left turn into the backstage area and began weaving through the vehicles and equipment. She hoped there was security back here, someone to stop her and ask why she was wandering around backstage.

  
No such luck, and she could hear her pursuer getting nearer. He was tripping over electrical cords and swearing to himself. Claire could see that he was more occupied with not falling on his face than anything else, so she took the time to find the most convenient hiding place possible.

  
This happened to be one of the tour buses. It was dark and empty and at the moment it was the safest option. There was no way he would follow her in there. She closed the door softly and felt her way into the interior of the bus. No lights; that would be a dead giveaway.

  
She crouched beside the windows and listened. He was still out there, fumbling around in the dark. He ran into the side of the bus and she jumped. She had a sudden vision of him trying the door and trapping her in this tiny space. Moving as quickly and as quietly as possible, she climbed into one of the bunks and pulled the curtains around her.

  
The man's voice was still there. Was he ever going to give up? Maybe the band would chase him away. But then what would they do upon finding her in here? She hugged her flute to her chest and lay as still as possible, waiting.


	3. The Taste of Ink - The Bus

A bang and a loud curse jolted her awake some time later. Claire froze, scrambling to remember where she was. The audition, the concert, and...the man. She listened for his voice, hoping that he was not the one who'd found her. But all of the voices she heard were unfamiliar. All four of them.

  
Even with all of the lights on, it wasn't until she registered the gentle rocking of the bus underneath her that she realized what must have happened. She'd fallen asleep on the tour bus. And the band was on the road.

  
She stayed still, thoughts racing. Should she let them know she was here? Maybe they wouldn't mind. But then again, she had no idea what kind of people these men were. Perhaps worse than her pursuer from earlier. The best thing to do, Claire decided, was to wait them out. Surely they had to stop to eat sometime, and when they did she could sneak out, call a cab, and forget any of the silly business had ever happened.

  
This was a perfect plan. Until the curtain around her bunk was pulled back and light flooded into her hiding space. Blinking at the sudden brightness, she looked up into the face of the eyeliner-wearing singer from the concert. He stared at her, mouth open in surprise.

  
"Jamie, what in the hell are you look-" A bearded man poked his head down from the bunk above and let out a yell of surprise. "Holy shit!"

  
Claire climbed out of the bunk carefully. She was sure that she looked like a mess, but she faced the four open-mouthed punks with as much dignity as she could muster. "Hello," she said, voice shaking only a tiny bit. "My name is Claire Beauchamp. And I seem to have lost my way."

* * *

  
"So, you're not a groupie," Murtagh, the keyboard player, said for the fifth time.

  
"No," Claire replied, also for the fifth time. "I didn't even know who _Tupac Lard_ were until a couple of minutes ago. I don't even like rock music."

  
" _Tulach Ard_ ," Dougal corrected her, shoulders shaking with amusement. "And it's punk, not rock." The bass player sat at the head of the small dining area with his arms crossed, studying her. "So if you're not interested in our music, or our charming good looks, why the hell are you in our bus?"

  
She took a deep breath. "There was a...man." It took only a minute to explain the encounter and by the end of it she felt rather foolish. Sitting in a lighted bus surrounded by very large but rather friendly types, the whole encounter seemed a bit silly. Then she remembered the man's hand on her arm and the unpleasant look in his eye and she shuddered despite the warmth inside the bus.

  
Colum seemed to share her distaste. The drummer was sitting beside his brother Dougal, stretching out his legs, which Claire could now see were twisted and painful-looking. He fixed her with a concerned stare. "This guy that was harrassing you, he was maybe 6'1? Brown hair? Weird eyes that kind of look through you a bit? Southern accent? Little star tattoo right behind his ear?" He touched his right ear in demonstration.

  
"Well...yes," she admitted. "How on earth would you know that?"

  
Colum glanced at Dougal. "Sounds like Jack's back to his old tricks."

  
Dougal rubbed a hand over his face. "Fuck." He looked at her soberly. "Jack Randall is our agent. Hell of a guy, but he's bad news. I've heard some stories you wouldn't believe about that one."

  
She recalled Randall's appraising look and shook her head. "I rather think I might at this point."

  
"If that's who you were hiding from, honey, stay as long as you like," Jamie said from behind her. The young lead singer was draped over the bunk Claire had recently vacated and smiled up at her winningly. "We've got the room."

  
"We really don't," Murtagh muttered.

  
"That's quite alright," she demurred before any more could be said on the subject. "If you could just let me off at your next stopping place I would be happy to be out of your hair."

  
There was a collective intake of breath and she suddenly got a very bad feeling about the whole thing. "Well," Jamie started carefully. "The thing is-"

  
"-and we're very sorry about it-" Colum put in quickly.

  
"-but this bus is non-stop to Bangor," Dougal finished. "We've got about seven hours to go." He shrugged an apology. "Sorry, Claire, but it looks like you're stuck with us for a little while."


	4. 21 Guns - The New Member

Seven hours is a lot longer than you think, especially when it is spent in the company of four large members of a rock- excuse, a punk band. Claire took the time to tell the band about herself (single, Juilliard grad, only child, hopeful Philharmonic flutist) and they took the time to introduce themselves more thoroughly and explain the history of _Tulach Ard_.

  
Colum and Dougal, the brothers Mackenzie, had started the band with their two sisters about four years ago. But after their first album, which had been a moderate success, the band had undergone some personnel shifts (the details of which Colum glossed over smoothly) that had shaken up the band for quite some time. But now that things were settled, with Jamie and Murtagh on the crew, Tulach Ard was touring the country on a comeback tour. A comeback tour that Claire had inadvertently crashed.

  
All in all, however, the ride was not unpleasant. The band were kind and vastly changed her opinion of punk rock singers. Jamie showed her his tattoos (a coat of arms and several Gaelic phrases) and Colum patiently answered her intrusive questions about his crippled legs (a childhood accident paired with weak bones). Murtagh declined to socialize, not being the talkative type, and slept most of the way. Dougal was just showing her the basics of playing the bass, for lack of anything better to do, when the driver called back to say that they'd arrived in Bangor.

  
"Thank heaven!" Claire cried, leaping up from her seat. Dougal and Jamie frowned and she checked her enthusiasm. "Not to say I haven't enjoyed your company, gentlemen; I have, immensely. I just think it's time for me to be on my way."

  
"No kidding," Murtagh grunted from his bunk. Colum ignored him and extended a hand for her to help him to his feet. She did so and he kept hold of her hand, smiling.

  
"Paying no mind to Murtagh, it's been a pleasure, Claire. Are you sure you won't stay for the concert? It's only tomorrow."

  
She gently took back her hand and smiled apologetically. "Unfortunately no thank you. I really do have to get home. I have no business in Maine and I'm...rather anxiously waiting on a callback." She checked her cell phone; no calls yet. But then, it hadn't even been a day yet.

  
Dougal pushed ahead of her to the door of the bus, chiding his brother along the way. "Come on, Colum, leave her alone. She's probably glad to be well rid of us by this point." He opened the door and stepped down from the bus. "The least we can do is get-" Dougal's voice cut off abruptly and so did his stride; Claire ran smack into his back as she tripped down the steps.

  
Excusing herself profusely, she stepped to the side and was suddenly confronted with the cause of Dougal's pause. Her assailant from the previous night stood in the parking lot, leaning on his car and smoking a cigarette casually. The look of shock on his face must have mirrored Claire's own. He was the last person she expected to see seven hours away in Bangor, Maine.

  
The man recovered quickly, however, and smiled broadly at her. Dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his heel, he made his way over to them. Dougal shifted his weight to place himself between Randall and Claire and she could feel Jamie at her back, on the steps of the bus. "Jack," Dougal greeted noncommitally. "I didn't think you were going to make it until tomorrow."

  
Jack Randall, for it appeared to be him indeed, answered Dougal while staring at Claire intently. "So did I, actually. But I found myself suddenly relieved of responsibilities last night and decided to surprise you boys by showing up a day early. Looks like I'm not the only one with surprises. You didn't tell me you were picking up groupies now," he admonished in a mock-chiding voice.

  
"She's not a groupie," Jamie interjected a little too quickly. Randall raised an eyebrow at him, then returned his gaze to Claire curiously.

  
"Well, if not a groupie, then certainly an unwelcome stowaway. Though a lovely stowaway." He smiled and her fists clenched. "I'm sure this pretty thing is just bursting to get home and I know that you boys have a lot of set up to do." Randall put out his hand gallantly. "If you'll come with me, I can give you a ride to the bus station."

  
"No," she blurted. Randall blinked and she reined in her distaste enough to make a more polite refusal. "No, thank you, I believe I can manage on my own."

  
He withdrew his hand, but the slimy smile stayed in place. "Such a beauty all alone in a nasty bus station? Who knows what might happen. You could use someone there to...protect you." He winked at her and she suppressed an urge to punch him right in his skeevy little face.

  
"She's not going with you." Jamie descended fully from the bus and put his hand on her shoulder. Randall's eyebrows rose and Dougal jumped in quickly to save the situation.

  
"She can't go with you because she's the newest member of _Tulach Ard_."

  
Claire and Randall stared at Dougal with matching looks of shock. He continued his explanation to the dumbstruck Randall. "It's our prerogative to add new members at any time and besides, Colum's been feeling a bit poorly lately."

  
Colum's head popped out of the door briefly and gave a cough that was more polite than sickly before disappearing once again. Randall's eyes narrowed, focusing first on Claire, then on Dougal. "That is not what the contract says, and you know it."

  
Dougal grinned. Arguing seemed to be his forte and from the looks of things, he and Randall were about to get well into it. "Actually, that's exactly what it says, if you'll look at the second page in the fourth paragraph where it clearly states-"

  
Jamie's hand tightened on Claire's shoulder and he whispered, "Let's get out of here before they start a scene."

* * *

  
Glad to get away from the brewing conflict, she followed Jamie inside the building where the concert was to be held. The stage hands were already setting everything up, getting the instruments in place and the lights just the right way. Ignoring the bustle around them, Jamie led her onto the stage. "This'll all be full tomorrow night," he said, gazing around at the now-empty seats.

  
"How exciting," she murmured. The thought of a full concert hall made her fingers itch for her flute and she reflexively checked her phone again.

  
"It is exciting. It's like all of these people are here to see you, and they're giving you their energy, and then you sing it right back to them." He looked down at her. "Do you know what that's like?"

  
"I...I think I do," she said slowly. "I've played concerts before, big ones. But it's a little different with a flute, in a concert hall. Less crashing noise and energy and more quiet grace."

  
Jamie looked affronted. "Noise, do you say? Noise?" He picked up one of the guitars already on the stage and ran his fingers over the strings. "This isn't noise. It's just as much music as your tin whistle."

  
"Tin whistle!"

  
"I know, flute. But listen." He sat down cross-legged and cradled the guitar in his lap. Jamie started to play gently, the notes barely reaching her in the rush of the set up around them. "Music is music, Claire," he said, not looking up from the instrument. "Some kinds are just louder than most."

  
Claire sat down beside him and watched. Jamie was handsome. She hadn't noticed before how much. But here, with his long red hair falling half over his face and his long fingers running lovingly over the strings of his guitar, he was beautiful.

  
They sat in a sort of fugue; Jamie entranced by his music, and Claire entranced by his rapture. A cleared throat behind them caused them to jump and they turned to find the other three band members standing there watching. Dougal smirked knowingly. "Sorry to interrupt practice, Jamie, but we've straightened out Jack."

Claire got to her feet hurriedly. "Got rid of him, you mean."

"Well, yes and no," Colum said vaguely. He limped across the stage and sat down heavily on one of the boxes. "He's gone off for now, but you can't. Go, I mean."

  
She glanced from one brother to the other, confused. "I don't understand."

  
"Look," said Dougal. "It's not that Jack Randall is a bad sort, per se. He's just bad on his women and it would be safer if you didn't go off alone with him."

  
"I got that much," she said tartly. "What does that have to do with me going back to New York?"

  
"Jack's the sort of man that will not take no for an answer," Colum continued for his brother. "So the only way Dougal saw to get you out of accepting a ride from him was to make you a member of the band."

  
"But that was only a ruse, until Randall left."

  
Dougal scratched his beard evasively. "Originally, yes. But like he said, Jack's not one to take no and he's apparently come to see you as 'the one that got away'. So the only way to get him off our backs is to promise that you're really a member of the band. He can't touch members of the band, it's bad business."

  
Claire was starting to get a bad feeling about this. "And to prove that I'm really a member of the band..."

  
"You're going to have to play the show tomorrow," Murtagh put in bluntly. The band's fourth man didn't seem particularly happy about this, but then, Murtagh rarely seemed happy about anything.


	5. So Long Soldier - The Lesson

Claire abruptly sat back down again. "I can't be in a band, I play the flute! I highly doubt you have any songs that feature flutes! And besides that, I have to go home."

  
"Look, it's just one concert. Then we can cite differences of opinion or whatever and you can be on your way," Colum reasoned.

  
"Plus," Jamie put in, "it's not like the Phil is going to call within a day of your audition. You'll be fine." The unfortunate thing was, he was very right.

  
Claire's thoughts were spinning end over end. She didn't really recall being herded towards the drum kit, but she heard Dougal explain, "The idea is that you'll replace Colum on drums for the night. Colum'll enjoy the rest anyway."

  
"I'm not a percussionist," she said faintly, uneasily surveying the array of drums in front of her.

  
"I'll teach you," Jamie volunteered helpfully. Dougal shot him a look. "Hey, I used to play drums before I signed on as lead for _Tulach_ , you know. And Colum needs to get some sleep."

  
"You do not tell me what I need," Colum said crisply, but Claire could see the shadows under his eyes and knew Jamie was right. Dougal shrugged and turned away.

  
"Make sure she's got the basics and we'll do what we can from there. Come on, Colum." The three made their way down from the stage and out of the building, leaving me alone with Jamie.

  
"It's really simple. You've got rhythm, right?" He bobbed his head in demonstration and she shrugged.

  
"I guess?"

  
Jamie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Right. Okay. Ground up, then." He picked up the drumsticks and held them in front of her. "First of all, hold them like this."

  
He was very close to her. She could feel the warmth of him against her side and grabbed the sticks from him in an attempt to distract herself. "I assume the next step is hitting the drum." She tapped the closest drumhead.

  
"In a rhythmic fashion, yes," he said, looking amused at her attempt. He spent a few minutes acquainting her with the different sorts of drums and the sounds that each of them made. As he finished the rundown, a question occurred to her.

  
"You said you'd been a drummer before. Any bands I might know?"

  
Jamie snorted. "If you've heard of any bands that aren't classical, I'll be very surprised." He sat back and sighed. "I was drummer for _The Band Fraser._ " Claire shook her head and he laughed. "See, I knew it. The band didn't actually last very long, but it was an experience.

  
"Dougal and Colum started _Tulach Ard_ with their sisters, Jocasta and Ellen. After the first tour, Colum told you the band went through some changes. One of those changes was Ellen getting married and starting a band with her new husband. _The Band Fraser_."

  
Claire nodded. Now Colum's glossing over the details was making more sense. "Not something Dougal and Colum approved of, was it."

  
"Not at all," Jamie confirmed. "But they were proved right, _Fraser_ had one hit off our first album and then kind of tanked. I was the drummer, and after it was over, Dougal asked me to sign on with _Tulach_. I get that it was more to spite Ellen than anything, but I needed the work." He smiled at her. "And I would have missed the music."

  
Claire rubbed the drumsticks between her hands. "If you expect me to play tomorrow, there's not going to be much music, I can tell you that."  
Jamie laughed again. "It's not as if you don't play anything at all. Look," he said, shifting to face her directly. "When you play the flute, do you have that moment when it's just the music, nothing else, and from there it's just easy?"

  
She nodded, remembering the feeling. "It's like being caught up, nothing else matters but this."

  
Jamie's blue eyes bored into hers with a single-minded intensity. "That's what this is like, all the time. Drums aren't easy, but in a lot of ways they're the easiest thing. You're the beat. You're the life of the song. You keep the rest of it going and you feel that in your bones." Claire held his gaze for a long minute until he looked away, clearing his throat briskly.

  
"Anyway," he said, "let's start getting you familiar with our set."


	6. The Warrior's Code - The Concert

The next night came a lot faster than Claire would have liked. Despite incessant practicing with Jamie and feeling like she could sing _Tulach Ard_ 's top hits in her sleep, Claire didn't feel ready in the slightest. She bounced the drumsticks in her hand nervously and tried to avoid talking lest she vomit on somebody.

  
Jamie caught onto her nerves and smiled reassuringly. "It'll be fine," he said.

  
"I certainly hope so," Colum said from his seat on the other side of the room. "I'll be waiting in the wings if you need backup."

  
"Thank you, that makes everything so much better," she said, not entirely insincerely.

  
Jamie squeezed her hand briefly. "It will be fine," he repeated.

  
Dougal poked his head into the room. "What's the hold up?" he snapped. "We have thirty seconds, get moving."

  
On stage, it was exactly as Jamie had described it. The seats were filled and Claire could feel the crowd's energy like a palpable force. They cheered when the band entered the stage, but they screamed when Jamie appeared.

  
He was glowing with the energy of the room, his red hair unbound and flying around his shoulders. Waving a hand at the masses, he glanced back at the band and winked. Claire clutched the drumsticks tighter, ready. Jamie started the first song on the guitar and she counted along until her entrance.

  
Fortunately for her, the first song was slightly different from the rest of the set. Claire's entrance and Dougal's were the same, except Dougal was playing the bagpipes. Claire hit the drums and Dougal entered, pipes blaring. The crowd went wild and she recalled Jamie's reassurance just before the show.

  
"Everybody's going to be looking at Dougal on the pipes. No one is going to be paying attention to you." He'd shrugged and smiled warmly at her. "And after the first song, you'll be warmed up and ready to go."

  
He was right.

  
The show went off amazingly. Claire could tell that Murtagh didn't think it was up to their usual standards, what with the looks he kept shooting her throughout the night. But it was electric. She'd never before felt so connected to her instrument, her music, and the people surrounding her. Jamie introduced the band after the second song and the cheering at her name sent a thrill through her bones. She couldn't remember why she'd hated this kind of music.

  
Afterward, she couldn't sit still. Claire flitted around backstage, touching everything, moving for the sake of it. Colum watched her with an amused smile. "Had fun, did you?"

  
"Fun's not the word," she said breathlessly. "It was...almost spiritual, if that doesn't sound stupid to say."

  
"Not at all," said Dougal, returning from a meet-and-greet with some fans. "It makes perfect sense to me."

  
"Spiritual," Jamie commented drowsily. The concert energy had run out of him and he was sprawled out across two chairs, eyeliner smudged across his face and eyes closed. "Spiritual is good, I like that."

  
"Never recall feeling quite so drained after church," Murtagh grunted. "Can we get some sleep now?"


	7. Savior - The Parting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some implied non-con kissing. Nothing graphic or disturbing, but be forwarned.

Claire couldn't sleep, however. After tossing and turning in the bus for half an hour, and subsequently getting yelled at for rocking the vehicle, she disembarked to take a walk. She wandered around the parking lot, empty at this time of night, and looked up at the barely visible stars.

  
Her reverie was interrupted by her cell phone's ring. She snatched it to see who in the hell was calling so late. It was Frank, one of her old friends from school and the one who'd arranged the audition with the Philharmonic. Claire picked it up immediately. "Hi, Frank?"

  
"Claire, hey! Where are you? I tried going over to your place earlier but you didn't answer."

  
She glanced back at the tour bus. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  
"Alright," Frank said with a laugh. "Lost track of time in the practice room again, I got you." Claire rolled her eyes but didn't correct him; her incessant practicing was an old joke and much more believable than what she was actually doing.

  
"What's up, Frank? Why the late call?"

  
"I just got home from a dinner party with some folks from the Phil." His voice was teeming with excitement and it was catching. Claire clutched the phone tighter, hoping...

  
"What did they say, Frank?"

  
"Nothing solid yet, obviously. It's been a day. But they said they really like you," Frank said in a sing-song. "I just bet they'll pick you, Claire!"

  
She closed her eyes and slumped against a light pole. "Oh my god."

  
"Good oh my god, right?"

  
"Very."

  
"I thought you'd want to know ASAP. Anyway, I'll let you get back to sleep or whatever. Bye!" Frank hung up and she sighed heavily.

  
"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ," she said softly.

  
"So that's his middle name," a voice said from behind her. Claire jumped and whirled, ready for Jack Randall. Jamie, however, was the one holding his hands up and laughing at her startlement. "I didn't mean to scare you."

  
Claire leaned back against the pole and let out the breath she'd been holding. "What are you doing out here, aside from scaring the daylights out of me?"

  
"Out for a walk," he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. Without his eyeliner, he looked a lot younger than he usually did. "I can never sleep after a show."

 

"Oh, so it is normal."

  
He smirked at that and started walking. Claire fell into step beside him and they strolled for a while without comment. Finally he said, "It was nice having you in the show."

  
"It was nice being in the show," she responded. "I enjoyed...belonging, I guess."

  
Jamie smiled. "It is that. You were good on the drums, for a newbie."

  
Claire groaned. "Don't remind me; I completely forgot what I was doing about halfway through and I thought Dougal was going to murder me."

  
"Nah, it added a new dimension to the song," Jamie assured her, laughing.

  
"Yeah, yeah."

  
They walked on for a while before he spoke again. "How long are you going to stay? The next show's only in New Jersey. You could come along, if you want."

  
His tone was nonchalant but she could tell that he was hopeful. Claire hesitated for a long moment. There was a part of her that wanted to stay, she was surprised to find. Something in her that enjoyed the roar of the crowds and the deafening noise that they called music. Not to mention the good company she was keeping, she thought with a sideways glance at Jamie. And yet...

  
"I was just on the phone with a friend from New York. He said the Philharmonic really liked me. I have a good chance of getting the spot, I just..." She shrugged helplessly. "I have to be there for it."

  
Jamie didn't speak for a minute or two. "I'll miss you," he said finally.

  
"You've only known me for two days," she pointed out.

  
"Doesn't mean I don't like being around you."

  
"We can keep in touch, and it's not like the band will never be in New York again." She paused, then reached out and took his hand. "I'll see you again."

  
He smiled, squeezed her hand encouragingly. "I know."

  
They stood there, looking at each other under the fluorescent lights of the parking lot for a long moment. Finally Claire looked away. "I guess I'd better call a cab, get to the bus station."

  
"Without saying goodbye to the rest?"

  
She shook her head and pulled out her phone. "You can say my goodbyes for me."

  
The taxi picked her up in the parking lot and she left Jamie waving under the street lamp. She slumped down in her seat and sighed deeply. "The bus station, please," she told the driver, and didn't speak again for a long while.

  
It was an effort not to turn around and watch Jamie disappear into the night. But she was doing the right thing. She was going home. Back to an apartment that wasn't much bigger than the tour bus itself, and back to the life she shared with no one but herself. At least it was her life. Her quiet life with her flute and her plants and maybe, her place in the Philharmonic.

  
And she was leaving behind a band that didn't even know her. They had made a place for her and saved her from disaster but she didn't know them, not really. She was leaving music that she hated. She hated the crescendos and the passion of the lyrics and the power of the crowd rolling over her like a tide. She was leaving Jamie. Jamie, with the blue eyes and the red hair and that stupid eyeliner he liked to wear on stage. Jamie.

  
 _I'll miss you._

 

"Damn it," she said softly.

  
"What was that, lady?" the driver called over his shoulder.

  
"Turn around." She swallowed hard and said it again. "Turn around, please. I have to go back."

  
The parking lot was empty when the taxi brought her back. Claire paid him quickly and left him shaking his head as she hurried across the lot. She almost missed them, so intent was she on returning to the bus. But it was Jack Randall's voice that pulled her up short.

  
"So your new member just left, did she?"

  
Claire froze, ducking back out of a pool of light. Jamie's voice answered, strangely subdued. "We had artistic differences."

  
"Convenient how that works," Randall purred. "It almost sounds like a lie to me."

  
Claire crept toward the voices, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Randall had Jamie backed up against Randall's parked car, standing rather too close for comfort. Jamie turned his face away and Randall turned it back, one hand on his cheek.

  
"You wouldn't lie to me, Jamie. Would you."

  
Jamie shook his head, meeting Randall's gaze. "Of course not. Why would I lie about her. What is she to me? To us?"

  
"I could almost say you had feelings for her. You seemed very fond of her on your little walk earlier."

  
Very slowly, Jamie reached up and placed his hand over the one cupping his cheek. "I wouldn't lie to you," he said, his eyes never leaving Randall's.

  
Jack Randall smiled and kissed Jamie. Claire made a strangled noise of surprise and ducked behind a light pole. "I know," Randall's voice floated over to her after a moment. "Wouldn't go well for the band if you did, would it? And I know how much you want to keep them safe."

  
Claire peeked around the light pole. Randall was touching Jamie, running his hands under Jamie's shirt and smiling at him darkly. Jamie, on the other hand, looked as if he would like nothing more than to get away. "Can we go somewhere more private?" Jamie asked, glancing around at the mostly empty parking lot.

  
"Why? There's no one out here but us." Randall pressed his lips against Jamie's neck. "Besides, I like watching you squirm."

  
Jamie looked away, lips set into a firm line. And then he saw Claire. She gasped and swerved behind the light pole again, but it was too small to hide all of her. Jamie tensed and Randall looked up at him.

  
"What's wrong?" Randall stood back from Jamie, studying his face. "What did you see?" He looked back over his shoulder just as Claire was peeking back around the pole. Their eyes locked. Randall smiled.

  
"So you came back," he said softly. "Amazing." Jamie grabbed his hand, tried to keep him, but Randall broke away. Jack Randall went for Claire with a purpose; not a run but a definite stride that sent chills up Claire's spine. It was the look in his eyes, though, that made her take off running across the parking lot.

  
Jamie lunged for Randall and turned him back by the shoulder, landing a punch on his jaw. Randall staggered, staring at Jamie as if he couldn't believe that he'd dared to hit him. Jamie clenched his fists, ready to go again.

  
Claire glanced back just in time to see Randall hit Jamie in the face, a backhand that sent the younger man reeling. She reversed her course, running full tilt for the tour bus. As she passed the fight, Randall made a grab for her. She swerved and Jamie kicked Randall in the knee, sending him to the ground. She kept running.

  
She reached the tour bus and slammed through the door. "Dougal!" she screamed, not caring who she woke. All three occupants of the bus sat bolt upright, Colum cursing as he cracked his head on the bunk above him.

  
"What the hell?" Dougal growled, turning on the lights to squint daggers at Claire. "What's going on?"

  
"Randall's fighting Jamie," she panted. "In the parking lot. You've got to stop them!"

  
Dougal swung out of bed, immediately awake. He thundered out of the bus, Claire close on his heels. "Randall!"

  
Randall's head snapped around, his concentration on Jamie momentarily interrupted. Upon seeing Dougal's murderous charge toward him, Jack Randall's concentration was lost entirely and he took off running for his life. Dougal motored right past Jamie's limp form, chasing Randall into the darkness.

  
Claire, hurrying behind Dougal, stopped beside Jamie. She went to her knees and took his hand. "Are you alright?"

  
Jamie sat up slowly, holding his head with his free hand. His knuckles and face were bruised, and his lip was dripping blood. He touched the split gingerly and looked at the blood on his fingers. "I think I cracked a tooth on his stupid head," he muttered. He spit blood, then shrugged at Claire apologetically.

  
"You didn't have to do that," she said quietly.

  
Jamie looked up at her, and the look in his eyes chilled her. "I wasn't going to let him get his hands on you."

  
"Like he got his hands on you."

  
Jamie shrugged again, looking away. "I was protecting my band. My family." His eyes met hers and he smiled gingerly, wincing as his split lip pulled. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for my family." They shared a look for a moment, then a thought occurred to Jamie.

 

"I thought you were going back to New York."

  
Claire shook her head. "I thought about it and I figured, why not one more show?"

  
"Just one more?"

  
Their fingers laced and Claire's lips quirked into a smile. "One more."


	8. Thriller - The Epilogue

_Jack Randall was brought up of charges of coercion, sexual assault, and battery. Jamie Fraser testified at the trial that Randall had been holding the band's contract over his head for years, using his position as the band's agent to gain sexual favors from the young lead singer. Sentencing is still pending._

  
_The trial left_ Tulach Ard _in a strange place. With their agent in prison and half of the band tied up in legal knots, there was no choice but to cancel the remainder of the tour. After a few months, the cancellation of the tour became the cancellation of the band. The senior members of_ Tulach Ard _, Dougal and Colum, took the case as a sign that the band had run its course and ended a contract that was in the air anyway._

  
 _Claire Beauchamp was not chosen for principal flutist of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. She didn't mind much, however. Claire never went back to New York. She stayed by_ Tulach Ard _through the length of the trial, until both it and the band were over. After that, she stayed by Jamie._

  
 _Claire and Jamie started a band of their own. With Jamie on lead vocals, Claire on drums, Fergus Claudel on bass and Ian Murray on keyboard,_ The Band Fraser _arose from the ashes of_ Tulach Ard _. Signed with a new agent (John Grey, not prone to coercion of his talent), they released a hit album in the first year and booked a nationwide tour in the second._

  
 _One more show turned into one more lifetime. And Claire Beauchamp Fraser would not have it any other way._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes complete with a mix: http://8tracks.com/chernoalpha/fix-me-in-45


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